Dead Man's Legacy
by Chris7221
Summary: Jason Sparrow really didn't think pawning an old compass would unleash a worldwide calamity. Lieutenant Katie Dawson really wasn't sure what killed her shipmates, only that it terrified her. Soon, the dead will rule the seas again. Wrote on a whim after seeing Dead Men Tell No Tales, spoilers for that, probably won't continue.


Just saw the movie, was inspired, probably won't continue this.

 **Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Legacy**

"Faster, faster!" Miguel Rojas urged, glancing nervously over the twin outboard engines at the back of their boat. The grey ship had appeared suddenly on the horizon, and it was gaining fast. He didn't think a ship like that could catch up to their nimble boat, but it was gaining and gaining fast.

"I am going as fast as I can," Jesús Perez shouted back from the controls of the cigar boat. Nevertheless, he pulled the throttles back slightly and slammed them forward, gaining a tiny bit of extra engine power. He winced as they slammed into a swell, a spray of water cascading onto the foredeck and over the windscreen.

"Can we lose them over there?" Miguel asked, spotting a familiar shape jutting out of the sea. He pointed, the spray soaking his extended arm.

"We're in the Triangle, that place is cursed!" Jesús shouted angrily. "Do you want to die?"

Miguel glanced back again. The ship was getting bigger, and he could make out its flag now. "It's that or the Americans!"

"Damn it," his companion complained, jerking the wheel hard left and changing course for the supposedly cursed rocks.

* * *

"He's speeding away, sir, and turning for the rocks," Lieutenant Dawson observed calmly from her position on the bridge of the USS Coronado. Personally, she thought chasing drug smugglers was beneath the role of the new Littoral Combat Ship, but as XO it wasn't her job to complain.

"Helm, increase speed to match," Commander Moreau ordered. He leaned to the side of his captain's chair to get a better view. The rocks were more like a seamount or small island, an archlike opening surrounded by sheer cliffs. "I do not want to lose that boat."

"Aye, sir. Increasing speed to four-two knots, engines ahead full," the helmsman acknowledged. Unlike older ships, the brand-new _Coronado_ had an all-digital engine control system. He reached over and pushed a pair of levers forward. Near-instantly, the two General Electric LM2500 turbines responded, increasing shaft RPM and by extension the amount of water pushed through the ship's quad waterjets.

"He's going in, sir," the XO stated. They were catching up, but not fast enough. The boat would make it into the strange archlike structure before they could catch up with them.

Quickly, Commander Moreau sized up the opening. It was risky- there could be rocks in there, but his ship would fit, and it couldn't be that long- he thought he could see sky on the other side. But they were close to catching that smuggler, a success they desperately needed. He could launch RHIBs or a helicopter, but they might not reach the boat before it escaped. "Chase her down."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman acknowledged. He pushed the wheel to the left, deflecting the waterjets over and turning the ship to its new course. "Recommend we reduce speed to two-zero knots."

The captain nodded. "Make it so, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir." The helmsman pulled back on the throttles, and the noise of the engines died down as they rapidly shed speed. Instead of racing into the opening at full tilt, they sneaked in at a leisurely pace.

They did not emerge out the other side, however. Instead, they descended into shadows, the bridge now lit primarily by the bright glow of readouts and displays. It seemed like a cave inside the craggy rock, somehow engulfing them despite outward appearances.

"Sir, I don't like this," the XO said quietly. The place had an eerie, creepy quality she couldn't quite place.

The captain ignored her, instead turning and asking, "TAO, where's our boat?"

"We have no contact on the boat, sir," he reported.

"Slow to eight knots," Moreau ordered the helmsman before turning back to the TAO. "Find that boat."

"Aye, sir, attempting to reacquire."

"Captain, visual contact, bearing zero-two-zero," one of the bridge lookouts called. He pointed to a shape visible outside their windows, not quite dead ahead. "Looks like a shipwreck, sir."

"I really don't like this," the XO repeated.

"Noted, Lieutenant," Moreau acknowledged. He stepped out of his chair, grabbed a pair of binoculars, and took a look himself. It was ancient, looking like it had once been a pirate ship in centuries long past.

"Sir, picking up movement on the shipwreck," the TAO alerted. "It's drifting toward us."

At that moment, the captain seemed to lose his nerve. Voice calm, he ordered, "Back one third, I don't want that thing to hit us."

The helmsman pulled back on the throttles, past the idle position. Inside the waterjets, reversers swung down and redirected the flow forward, slowing the _Coronado_ and pushing it slowly backwards. To their surprise, the wreck began increasing speed, not only following but inching toward them.

"What the fuck?" Dawson snapped.

"No shit," Moreau commented. He ordered the helmsman, "Back standard, get us out of here."

As they began increasing speed, one of the lookouts began pointing forward. "Sir, look!"

Commander Moreau's jaw dropped in shock at the sight. The shipwreck had turned and was accelerating. He couldn't be sure in the limited light, but it looked as if the front of it was opening up like the lifting nose of a cargo plane. On the water, dozens of human shapes rushed toward them.

"Contact is increasing speed and closing! Picking up new contacts on the water, closing fast." the TAO shouted. An alarm began blaring from his panel, reverberating through the bridge. "Jesus Christ!"

"Engines back full!" the captain roared, now in full-on panic mode. "Open fire!"

"Sir, rules of engagement-"

"Release all batteries, fire at will!" He'd take his punishment at the court martial if it turned out to be some pirate reenactors or something. Whatever this place was, it was scaring him shitless.

"Aye, sir," the TAO acknowledged with some reluctance.

Eerie lights flashed across the surface of the cave as the ship's weapons systems lit up, their throaty report echoing around the chamber. The _Coronado_ was an Independence-class Littoral Combat Ship and its offensive capabilities were limited. Its main weapon was a 57mm Bofors cannon, which was trained on the advancing shipwreck and fired on computer control. It fired rapidly, rattling off two rounds per second which began tearing apart the wooden structure. Two manually-operated M2HB machine guns, one on each side of the superstructure, opened fire on the charging attackers, shredding them with .50 caliber rounds but failing to stop the advance. Incredibly, the wreck continued to advance despite the chunks blown out of it, its "mouth" opening as it overtook the _Coronado_.

Commander Moreau realized what was happening, though he couldn't possibly grasp _how_. He shouted, "All hands, brace for impact!"

With a sickening crunch, the "mouth" closed, what should have been easily breakable wood cleaving through the aluminum hull of the _Coronado_ as if it was butter. The bow of the ship was completely severed just aft of the main gun. Water began rushing into both halves, and severed electrical cords quickly ignited leaking diesel fuel. Flames erupted from the rear half even as the whole ship began settling down into the water.

"It's just gone, it's fucking gone, sir!" the helmsman shouted in panic. The wooden jaws snapped shut, seeming no worse for wear from the carnage. Then they began to open again, moving forward toward them.

"Do you still have engines, helmsman?" Moreau asked.

"Yes, sir!" came the hurried reply.

"Back emergency, war reserve power!" the captain ordered, knowing that it would do them little good. They were almost out of the cave, but the jaws were wide open and on top of them. He glanced up, then around him. Calmly- to his own surprise- he reached up, grabbed the 1MC, and ordered, "All hands, abandon ship. Repeat, abandon ship. This is not a drill."

"Sir-"

"Clear the bridge, helmsman," Moreau ordered coldly. The jaws were closing now. He glanced around the rapidly emptying room. "It's been an honour serving with you all."

Seconds later, the wooden jaws of the mysterious wreck slammed shut, cutting through the bridge and everything below it. One of the beams slid sideways, impaling the captain right through his chest. He gasped for air as blood flooded his lungs, mercilessly blacking out with the pain and lack of oxygen.

Lieutenant Dawson only nearly died. Once the captain gave the order to leave, she bolted out of the bridge, ran down one level and out onto the superstructure. Before she could do anything else, the jaws came down, severing the ship in two and throwing her over the edge into the water.

She struggled to the surface, her lungs burning for air by the time she broke through. The water was deeper than she thought it would be, and she was incredibly disoriented. Around her, it was chaos. Half the crew of the _Coronado_ was in the water, desperately paddling for anything resembling shore. Ghostly creatures- _what the fuck were they?_ \- strode confidently across the water with swords in hand, executing the survivors without pause.

One of them started moving toward her. With a brief staccato report from behind her, the creature went down. She glanced back, noticing one of her sailors standing with an M4 rifle in his hand. The victory was short-lived, however, when one of the other spectres impaled him from behind.

Another one- this one little more than disjointed bits of body that somehow moved in synchronization- came up behind Dawson, grabbed her by the collar, and tossed her onto a rough rock. It raised its sword, and she closed her eyes waiting for death.

"No!" a gravelly, slightly accented voice shouted. Dawson turned to its source, coming face-to-face to… some zombie-like monster that might have once been a man. She wanted to scream again. Instead she bit her lip so hard she could taste blood.

"What's your name, woman?" the man-zombie-creature snapped at her. His hair- if that's what it was- floated in the air, flowing impossibly in a nonexistent breeze.

Shakily, she answered. "Dawson, Katie. Lieutenant United States Navy. 5417745."

"Navy?" it asked, disbelieving. "There aren't any women in any Navy."

She repeated, voice wavering, "Dawson, Katie. Lieutenant United States Navy. 5417745."

It ignored her and assured, "No need to fear me, woman. I always leave one alive so they can tell the tale. I need you to find a man named Jack Sparrow for me and relay a message from Captain Salazar."

Scared out of her wits, she almost reflexively nodded in reply.

"Tell him I will behold the daylight again, and on that day, death will go straight for him," the thing said menacingly before smirking slightly. "Can you tell him that? I would tell him myself… but dead men tell no tales."

She laughed nervously, coming out almost as a shrill cry. It seemed to be a correct enough response, because the thing holding her let go and the spectres started backing away.

Katie Dawson glanced around briefly before bolting for a drifting RHIB and jumping aboard. She gunned the engine and bolted out of the cave, taking only a brief glance back before collapsing over the wheel and throwing up over the side.

* * *

A thousand miles away, Jason Sparrow lounged in his mostly-broken couch. His apartment was small, half the appliances didn't work, and stank of sweat, booze, and cheap weed. Idly, he flipped through the channels. Nothing good on TV. He reached forward and picked up a bottle sitting on the cardboard box that served as his coffee table. Empty. He picked up the bong beside it. Only stale water and ash.

With a sigh, he grabbed his phone- a badly cracked iPhone 5C- from its usual perch on his armrest and dialed the first number in his contact list. "Hi, Glynda. I was wondering if-"

"Fuck you, Sparrow," the woman's shrill voice spat over the phone. "I wouldn't have sex with you again if you were the last man in the world."

"Well, I wasn't asking for-"

"You still owe me fifty dollars, by the way," she snapped. "You get that money to me or I'll break your fucking knees."

"Surely not my-"

She shouted, "I'm goddamn serious, Sparrow. Your fucking knees! I will go buy a sledgehammer and smash your kneecaps until they're fucking powder. Nobody fucks with Glynda, savvy?"

"What the fuck- sure, got it," Jason replied, his words coming out sarcastic. He didn't give Glynda a chance to reply, instead cutting off the call himself. Realizing that his half-drunk call had made his situation worse, he muttered, "God damn it."

Jason Sparrow pondered his options. He had one pending interview and a few possible callbacks, but those wouldn't come until tomorrow. He'd found seven dollars in coins under the couch last week, but doubted that would work again.

Maybe he could sell something. He'd picked up a box of crap from his grandfather's estate- of course his sister got most of the good stuff. Well, she was a software developer at 22 and he had no stable job at 29, so that was hardly surprising.

Jason stumbled the five steps or so to his closet and pulled out the cardboard box, carelessly dumping it on the badly stained carpeting. A half-empty bottle of bleach- why did he take that? A Polaroid camera- nope, just the box for a Polaroid camera. A bunch of clothes that wouldn't fit him or anyone he knew. A bottle of scotch, nope he was saving that. An old compass- aha! He had no use for it, and maybe it was worth something. It looked as shit, anyway. Might as well pawn it.

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he had nothing better to do anyway. Jason Sparrow pocketed the old instrument, grabbed his worn jacket, and headed out for the nearest pawn shop.

It was only a ten minute walk away, and he wasted no time once he reached his destination. He didn't cringe at the worn "Midtown Traders" sign or gawk at the Stratocaster in the window, but instead pushed the door open and headed straight for the pawnbroker behind the counter.

Jason tossed the compass on the counter without care. "What's it worth?"

"Well, it's antique, maybe mid-eighteenth century," the pawnbroker appraised. He spun it around in his hand. "Seems to be real. Broken, though, maybe fixable. I tell you what, I'll give you twenty bucks for it."

Jason didn't even hesitate. "Done."

With that, the pawnbroker stashed the object under his desk and withdrew a single twenty-dollar bill from the cash register. Idly, he remarked, "You know, this isn't the way to go through life."

"Don't I know it," Jason replied, smiling ruefully as he took the offered cash. "Thanks."

Without realizing it, Jason had broken a centuries-old curse with that simple transaction. Soon, the dead would once again rule the seas.


End file.
